


The Queen of Love and Beauty

by jonsastan (lilzipop)



Series: Spring Blossom [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Au- Rhaegar Wins, F/M, I couldn't decide which idea so I wrote both, Jon is their cousin, Post-Series, Spring Blossom, everyone knows this, jonsa, they're pretty similar but also kinda different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 10:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilzipop/pseuds/jonsastan
Summary: It was the tourney of the Awaited Spring, of the Rising Light, of the Dragon and the Wolf. It was the tourney to celebrate the coming of Spring and end of Winter.Winter is comingThe words of his uncle’s house, of his mother’s house echoed in his head. Aye, Winter is always coming, but now it is spring. And Jon had thought he would never see another spring, never see grass, or trees, or flowers. Never see that copper hair flowing in the breeze.





	1. Post Series

**Author's Note:**

> This is my drabble(s) for the first day of the Jonsa Spring Blossoms event. I couldn't decided between these two very similar ideas so I uploaded them both. Please be kind! It's my first foray into Jonsa and Asoif fanfic. Also this in un-beta-ed

Jon had never really had a taste for tourneys. He believed, as his uncle had, that when you fought a man for real you did not want them to know what you can do. And yet he was here. At the end of the jousting, just him and Lady Brienne of Tarth. Jousting wasn’t his favourite either. He preferred sparing, but his aunt had organised this tourney for him and he was expect, by all, to participate. 

 

It was the tourney of the Awaited Spring, of the Rising Light, of the Dragon and the Wolf. It was the tourney to celebrate the coming of Spring and end of Winter.

 

_ Winter is coming _

The words of his uncle’s house, of his mother’s house echoed in his head. Aye, Winter is always coming, but now it is spring. And Jon had thought he would never see another spring, never see grass, or trees, or flowers. Never see that copper hair flowing in the breeze.

 

He shook his head as he took his lance from Arya’s hands. She was playing squire for him today, not wanting to have to go and sit in the Royal box with her sister and his Aunt. 

 

“Just don’t be too hard.” Arya said, looking up at him. He frowned beneath his helm. 

 

“Brienne isn’t going to go easy on me just because she knows me.” He replied, his voice sounding hollow within the metal of his helm.

 

“Oh no, I meant when you fall off your horse because Brienne is going to kick your arse.” Arya smiled cheekily at him, a ghost of the child she had been sweeping across her face. 

 

“Thanks.” He positioned his lance and readied his horse. Jon slowed his breathing and watched, his body tense and coiled, waiting for the sign. 

 

And suddenly he was charging and so was Brienne. He aimed his lance with Ser Rodrick’s voice in his head murmuring the old saying  _ “Oak and Iron guard me well or else I’m dead and doomed to hell” _ and in a moment, it’s all over. 

 

Brienne has been knocked from her horse with a gasp from the crowd. Jon pulls up his horse and jumps off, ripping his helm from him and making his way over to Brienne. 

 

He breathes relief when she stands and removes her own helm. She smiles at him.

 

“Well aimed, your Grace!” She called and bows to him in forfeit and respect. He smiles back.

 

“Pure dumb luck Ser.” He replied. 

 

It takes a moment for him to realise what this means, but within seconds he remounts his horse and does a lap of the yard smiling at the people. When he stops Arya hands him a laurel of blue Winter Roses. They must be the last of the season, blue as frost and smelling as sweet as fresh snow. He makes his way toward the Royal box and nods at his Aunt enthroned in a black and red gown. She is clapping and smiling, but has no expectation. And then he turns his mount toward  _ her _ .

 

Her cheeks are flushed and she is smiling. Her copper red hair is flowing down her back over the white and grey dress she has worn. And her eyes, her sapphire Tully eyes, are gleaming with tears and joy.  He gets close, as close as he can without dismounting and climbing the barrier. 

 

He gently reaches and places the crown of Winter Roses into Sansa Stark’s lap. 

 

Sansa Stark is the Queen of Love and Beauty, and Jon Snow’s heart.


	2. Rhaegar Wins Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once a Targaryen prince had crowned a Stark girl the Queen of Love and Beauty and had almost destroyed the realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So same principle, but Rhaegar wins Au. Not sure on the details, but Lyanna died, Elia is still queen and Jon's siblings are still legit.

Jon starred in wonder as the snow fell around him. He’d never seen snow, not this much snow. Growing up in King’s Landing snow was a problem for above The Neck, something his mother’s people knew but he did not. And now, on his eighteenth name day he was to see snow. A laugh escaped him and he turned to look at his elder half siblings. 

 

Aegon was hunched over, his fur cloak drawn tightly around his shivering form. Jon’s half sister was hidden away in the carriage with her mother. 

 

“Are you excited Jon?” His father asked. Jon almost started out of his saddle. 

 

“Yes Father. I have never seen snow.” He explained uselessly. His father knew this. His father was the one who kept him in King’s Landing his whole life. 

 

“I believe the Starks are excited to host us and meet you.” King Rhaegar Targaryen smiled. “As much as any Northerners get excited.” 

 

Jon felt his cheeks burn with something other than the cold. 

 

“I hope I do not disappoint them.”

 

“You’re a Prince. You could not disappoint them.” His father said. Jon frowned. He knew this was not true. He knew that just because he was a Prince did not mean that he was the stuff of songs and tales. But his father did not see that, could not see that. His father saw only what he wanted to see. 

 

“Thank you Father.”

~~~~~~

 

Rhaegar was not sure what Ned Stark would do when he suggest the union. Any other lord would accept without a thought, grateful honoured by the suggestion that their daughter would be a Princess. But Ned Stark was not any Lord. He was Warden of the North, Blood of the First Men, his way was the old way, he was Lyanna Stark’s brother. 

 

“You honour me your Grace.” He’d said in the blasted cool and even tone. “I shall discuss it with my Lady wife. She had mentioned a possible betrothal for Sansa with another Lord and I would not wish to accept when Sansa may be promised to another.” And then he had left. 

 

Any other Lord would be grateful, but Ned Stark left the King of the Seven Kingdoms standing alone in the snow in a Godswood that did not welcome him. 

~~~~~~

 

Sansa watched as Lords and Ladies arrived from all over the Seven Kingdoms. In honour of Prince Jon’s eighteenth name day a tourney had been organised, but not in King’s Landing, in Winterfell. 

 

It was the first time her family had met the Royal family, although her father had know Jon as a babe in arms. 

 

The raven requesting the Prince’s name day celebrations to be held at Winterfell had shocked and pleased the Starks of Winterfell. Her Lady Mother had begun to organise immediately, preparing rooms and food and stables for all who would come. Her father had been quietly please with the prospect of meeting the young man who had bound the North to the South, his nephew. 

 

Sansa spun when she heard the sound of crunching snow behind her. Prince Jon approached her. She sunk into a deep and proper courtesy

 

“Your Grace.”

 

“Please, Lady Sansa, I’m just Jon.” She raised her eyes to him and he held out a hand to help her rise.

 

“Then I am just Sansa.” She smiled sweetly at him and a brief smiled passed over his face. 

 

“Are you please with the tourney preparations for your name day?” She asked.

 

Jon almost winced. 

 

“They are well done. Your father and mother have thought all every detail and I appreciate it greatly.” His answer was diplomatic, but not emotive. 

 

“Is this not what you want for your birthday, My Prince?” 

 

“Just Jon.” He moved and stood next to her and stared down at the Lords and Ladies arriving in the yard below. Each family seemed to arrive with every child they had in tow and Sansa knew why. “I wanted to meet my mother’s family, my father wanted a tourney. We compromised.” 

 

Sansa glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She had been shocked by the prince’s appearance when she met them. Prince Aegon had the Targaryen look with touches of the Martell from his mother. But Jon, Jon looked as Northern as a Direwolf. His hair was dark and curled, his jaw strong and square, his build strong and stocky compared to the lithe, slender form of his brother. And Jon’s eyes seemed to be a deep grey, almost black.  _ Just like Father’s  _  Sansa thought. 

 

“What would you like to know about your mother?” Sansa asked. Jon turned to her quickly. “I do not know much. Father does not like speaking about Aunt Lyanna, but I can try to paint a picture for you.” She offered and gentle smile.

 

“I would like that very much.” 

 

~~~~~~

 

It was the last event, the last match. One more run of the jousting and the tourney in honour of Prince Jon Targaryen would be at an end, except for the naming of the Queen of Love and Beauty. 

 

This tradition had Ned tense as a coil the whole day, and now he watch as his nephew the Prince faced Prince Aegon. The whole stand seemed to hold its breath. Whichever son won would have an opportunity to publicly declare their intentions toward a daughter of a noble house. 

 

Ned had avoided the King with diplomacy and skill over the past few days, hoping he would not need to answer the proposal the King made. But now it seemed history was playing all over again in front of his eyes. 

 

The two princes raced at each other, lances fell into place and hoof beats hammered against the cold ground. With a deafening crash the joust was over and a Prince had won. Ned’s stomach twisted as Prince Jon removed his helmet, handing it down to a squire instead of tossing it to the ground as many knights did. Jon smiled as his half brother rose and the boys nodded at each other. 

 

Soon, all too soon, a laurel of Winter Roses was given to Jon. Ned hated Winter Roses since that cursed day. Their delicate frost blue and sweet smell mocking him and the pain of the realm. 

 

Prince Jon did not circle the stands receiving applause and love from the crowd, trying to decide who he would honour. Prince Jon moved with determination and assurance toward the Starks. With wincing delicacy Jon placed the crown of roses on Sansa’s lap. 

 

The crowd whooped and clapped and Sansa blushed and placed the crown of blue Winter Roses on her copper curls and smiled at Prince Jon.

 

Once a Targaryen prince had crowned a Stark girl the Queen of Love and Beauty and had almost destroyed the realm.

 

Ned smiled. Perhaps this time it could heal the realm.


End file.
